The World's Muse
by amamoore13
Summary: Just a oneshot about my OC. She's up for adoption if you're interested in using her. I'm looking for someone that can bring her to her full potential. Or you can just read, enjoy, and learn to appreciate your Muses.


This is basically just a oneshot about my sprit oc. I wrote it a LONG time ago. Originally she was meant to be paired with, of course, Jack. But I just loved where it ended up so I wasn't motivated to continue it. I don't own anything except the OC, but if you are wanting to use the OC, don't hesitate to ask me. I'm very willing to adopt her out to someone who would bring her to her full potential. Enjoy-or not-and review-or don't.

Spirit of Creativity

Called: Della

Alias: Muse, Inspiration

Center: Creative nature

Powers: Inspiring literature, painting, and drawing. Bringing ideas to life

I squinted hard at the canvas in front of me, adding a thin sheen of green to the griffin's wings before clapping in joy and squealing. Very carefully, I touched the tip of my index finger to the still wet beak and pulled it away. As I pulled, the griffin came off the canvas and started cawing, flapping its wings, getting oil paint everywhere. Laughing in complete joy before the painting melted, leaving the canvas blank once again, I wiped a tear from my cheek and started loading up my supplies. The C-shaped pallet hung from my belt. Paintbrushes, pencils, and sticks of charcoal and pastel stuck out the back pocket of the green cargo pants that ended right below my knees, and my canvas slung over my shoulder. My headphones hung around my neck, slightly askew and quietly playing an eclectic soundtrack. Oil paint of all colors stained my arms, white tank top, threaded through my originally brown hair, and specks even made their way to the tops of my tanned, bare feet. I pulled my hair into a messy bun, picking out some paint and laughing again. Pulling my brown suspenders back over my thin shoulders, I started down the path into the town just beyond the forest.

The place felt dull and grey, but I would fix that. I noticed a child sitting on the sidewalk, chalk laying by her side as she looked bored. Leaning down, I playfully tickled her cheek and whispered in her ear. Soon her eyes lit up and she furiously began drawing.

"Ha, ha! That's beautiful! Just look at all those colors!" I jumped high and hovered for a moment, admiring her handiwork before seeing a teen looking frustrated at her computer screen on a park bench. I zipped over and glanced at the blank screen. A large smile made the paint that smeared on my cheek crinkle as I perched behind her on the back of the bench and rubbed her shoulders. I knew she couldn't feel my actual touch, but after another whisper, she was furiously typing. "That's right! Oh, man! You are totally getting an A+ for this masterpiece!"

I kept watching her for a while, getting caught up in her writing for longer than I intended. I just couldn't help it. Then I heard the soft sound of a guitar strumming and next thing I knew I was lounged on a porch, whispering away inspiration for the next perfect chord. My rainbow-flecked grey eyes closed as my foot tapped in tune with the catchy song, and soon I was standing, dancing away the fall afternoon.

After filling a few more minds with ideas that would keep them up late into the night, when the most amazing creations came to life, I wandered to the fountain that centered the town. I took a long moment to admire the design before using the water to scrub away the paint that made its way to my face. The paint on my arm had long since baked in. It had been there ever since I could remember. As I rubbed at the stains fondly, I noticed my watch and scraped the paint off the face so I could see the time.

"Crap, North is gonna kill me." I laughed lightly, pulling the globe from one of my many deep pockets and throwing it, almost taking too long trying to come up with the perfect names for each color that appeared in the vortex. The only physical thing I left behind in the small town was a pair of multi-colored footprints on the edge of the fountain.

Soon I was stumbling through the snow, basking in the translucent glow of the Northern Lights. When I entered North's workshop, the chaos thrummed through my veins and my smile grew ten-fold. Slowly I made my way to his office, taking time to inspect a few toys and whisper in the ears of a few Yeti.

"Della! There you are! I was wondering when you'd show up!" The large, tattooed man wrapped an arm around me and led me to a chair. I absentmindedly refused the seat, instead I pulled out my canvas.

"Oh, North! Look at what all's happened this year! This one, this one right here is Sally, in Denmark. She got first place in her kindergarten's art show!" As soon as the burly man sat I shoved the canvas in front of his face and images of all the art that transpired over the year started flashing forward. "This one right here, this is Jeremey's. It's his first doodle." I sighed lovingly and then placed my headphones over his ears. "Do you hear that!? The alternative groups are really getting big now! Oh, oh this one is one of my favorites! It sounds like a story… Speaking of stories," I snatched the headphones away, draping them back around my neck and lounging back midair, "you should hear Anthony's free verse. It's so… So magical! He's only twelve but he's really got a knack for it!"

"Della…" North pinched the bridge of his cherry-tinted nose and motioned someone forward. I kept gushing on about a few more musicians that had made the top 10 in their country, speaking like a proud mother. "DELLA!"

"Sorry…" I laughed sheepishly, my bare toes finding the hard redwood floors. Then I noticed the willowy man standing next to him. "Oh, hello. My name's Della: Muse, painter, writer, composer, most commonly known as the Spirit of Creativity and Inspiration." I wiped my hand on my pants before extending it towards him, a habit I'd picked up over a century ago.

"Jack…" He hesitantly took it and a chill ran up my arm, sending a thrill through me.

"Jack Frost? So you're the one that weaves that beautiful pattern on windows and cars and across the lakes! I've been painting your work for years!" I took a long step closer, still grasping his pale hand and gazing deep into his eyes. "Chartreuse! No, a lighter hue than that…Ocean spray, maybe?" I barely noticed that I was so close that our noses were practically touching.

"Della, could we get down to business, perhaps?" North huffed from behind his desk.

"Ah, yes! Let's!" I pulled away, shedding my suspenders so they hung from my waist and pulling myself up the sit cross legged in the air.

"It is only one month from Christmas. I need my Yeti extra hardworking, and my elves distracted." He scanned the calendar that counted down till his big day and looked up at me, clearly starting to feel the pressure.

"No problem. You know that I've got this." I gave him a wink before flitting out the door.

She seemed like chaos in a bottle, or like a painting in motion. She moved so fast it looked like her lines blurred as she zoomed on, showing North a slew of things and talking a mile a minute. I stepped forward when he motioned for me, and finally she was still. Paint smeared across her hands and seemed to stain them, caking under her nebula-painted fingernails. Wild brown hair that had paint streaks running through it was tied back into a wild bun, and her tan skin seemed to glow in a completely opposite way than his. Jack had never seen anyone like her. Where he was grey-blue, she was every color that existed. When he shook her hand, an almost uncomfortable warmth spread up his arm. The next thing he knew she was in his face, naming colors. That's when he noticed her eyes. In the background, they were a simple slate-grey, but then small flecks of colors he didn't even recognize seemed to pepper across her irises. If his nose wasn't a hair's breadth away from hers, he wouldn't have seen it. She was almost a full head shorter than him, but before he could make any more observations she was gone, back to talking with North. Della's voice seemed normal if you were listening casually, but if very focused you could hear the music. Every word she spoke held a melody, that, by itself would sound plain, but the way she spoke and the rhythm that flowed from her lips made everything sound like a song. Then she was gone.

"You are going to want to see this." North chuckled, rapping his back roughly and leading him out the door.

The workshop seemed to be covered in a watercolor fog. Della hovered from Yeti to Yeti, tickling their hairy chins and whispering in their ears. Every Yeti she visited seemed to breathe in a bit of the fog and started working at double-speed, painting and building with a new zest. Then she moved on to the elves, pulling out pallets of fresh paint and delicate paintbrushes, handing them out with a wide smile across her lips. The elves immediately went to painting each other's faces, and Della even joined it. She painted forests and lions and giraffes on them, and even let them paint her own face with sloppy swirls and lopsided smiley-faces. Then she took out a worn-looking brush, painting in midair. The resulting butterflies and birds fluttered around, landing on noses and splashing translucent paint into the air. A watercolored sparrow fluttered up to them, perching on his staff. She was incredible.


End file.
